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I've quit the Sawtooth." Brit's eyes cleared and studied Lone's face. "D'you know anything?" "No, I don't." Lone's face hardened a little. "But I wanted you to know that I'm with the Quirt, now." "Frank hire yuh?" "No. I ain't hired at all. I'm just with yuh." "We need yuh," said Brit grimly, looking Lone straight in the eyes. "Frank come yet?"
"I'll go with you," Senator Warfield offered suavely and kept alongside. "Frank Johnson was killed, you say? How did it happen?" "Fell off his wagon and broke his neck," Lone told him laconically. "Brit's pretty sick yet; I don't guess you'd better go inside. There's been a lot of excitement already for the old man. He only sees folks he's used to having around."
But Caroline kicked my horse down off the road, and I only saw him a minute but it must have been dad. And then, a little way down the hill, something went wrong." Frank seemed trying to reconstruct the accident from Lorraine's description. "He'd no business to start down if his rough-lock wasn't all right," he said. "It ain't like him. Brit's careful about them things little men most always are.
Lorraine laughed uncertainly. "I'd kill! if that would help dad." Swan was folding his coat very carefully and placing it under Brit's head. "My mother I love like that," he said, without looking up. "My mother I love so well that I talk with my thoughts to her sometimes. You believe people can talk with their thoughts?" "I don't know what's that got to do with helping dad?"
Brit's worked himself up into a fever, and I didn't dare tell him she wasn't with me. I said she's all tired out and sick and wanted to stay up by the spring awhile, where it's cool. I said she was with me, and the sun was too much for her, and she sent him word that Jim would take care of him awhile longer. So you better move down this way, or he'll hear us talking and want to know what's up."
Whenever Lorraine looked full into his face he would grin at her as though nothing was wrong, and when they came to a clear-running stream he emptied the water bottle, dipped up a little fresh water, added brandy, and lifted Brit's head very gently and gave him a drink. Brit opened his eyes and looked at Swan, and from him to Lorraine, but he did not say anything.
She had even remarked that she could not understand how a rancher would ever want to build a board shack if there was any timber to be had. Well, timber was to be had, and she should have her log house, though the hauling was not going to be any sunshine, in Brit's opinion.
Share and share alike, they lived and worked and wrangled together like brothers. For months Brit's wife was too angry and spiteful to write. Then she wrote acrimoniously, reminding Brit of his duty to his children. Royal was old enough for school and needed clothes.
Brit's eyes were terrible. Lorraine shuddered while she told him. "Rabbits in a trap," Brit muttered, staring at the low ceiling. "Can't prove nothing couldn't convict anybody if we could prove it. Bill Warfield's got this county under his thumb. Rabbits in a trap. Raine, you better pack up and go home to your mother. There's goin' to be hell a-poppin' if I live to git outa this bed."
"I took a homestead up there and some day they will want to buy my place or they will want to make a fight with me to get the water. Could you know that man again?" "Raine!" Brit's voice held a warning, and Lorraine shivered again as she turned toward him. "Raine, you " He closed his eyes again, and she could get no further speech from him. But she thought she understood.
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